I stayed busy. Whenever I thought about Bob Simmons or the police, I looked around the library for something else to fix. I hung up the rugs and beat them out. Took out the old socket in the foyer that mom was convinced would shoot sparks out a foot and burn the place down. The hinges on the door were loose, so I tightened them and now the door shut with a bang.
I had the circulation desk chair upended on the desk when Jessie Cartwright came in and slammed his computer bag down.
“Had a talk with my buddy Jason on the force.”
“Officer Albrecht. Came in here with Parkman yesterday.”
“Jason said Bob was here. With you.”
“You tell them that or did he?”
“Jessie, it’s not a problem.”
“Did he do it?”
“Don’t act like that, Evan. Don’t be an asshole. Those guys are dead.”
Jessie was going to make me say it. Make me think it and when I said it out loud I would think it. Maybe even know it. Would I believe it?
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what? That Bob was here when I know he wasn’t or that he killed those people.”
I looked at him. His eyes narrowed and he looked at me like an abused puppy wondering when the hit was going to come.
“I don’t know,” I said again. Even I did not believe me.
“Jesus, Evan. Just… Man, why the hell? I… Goddamn it, I need a drink.”
“You want me to come with?”
He walked out of the library without answering. The door slammed behind him, the hinges working perfectly now. I turned the chair over and sat down. The gas hissed and released, making me sink until I was a foot off the ground, eye level with the circulation desk surface and Jessie’s bag.